


Lauds In Autumn

by Gracesgirl



Category: Carol (2015)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 15:45:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21200114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gracesgirl/pseuds/Gracesgirl
Summary: A special autumn Sunday for Carol and Therese.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sabbath is not simply the pause that refreshes. It is the pause that transforms.  
Walter Brueggemann

Sr. Alicia took a deep lungful of the crisp autumn air, her grateful heart billowing in sync with her expanding lungs. She closed her eyes, savoring the rich scent of fallen leaf, woodsmoke, and pine. She didn’t know of a more intoxicating combination; certainly, it was an exquisite gift offered by this October day in upstate New York. The old Franciscan nun did not take this for granted. At her age, she found herself playing an increasingly risky game she’d privately titled, _What Still Works?_ Thankfully, her sense of smell was still going strong! _That works!_

Alicia leaned back on the stone bench, taking in Pace di Christo’s drooping gardens. She wiggled her ample bottom, immediately amused. _Well, that works! _The soft cushion had been there far too long, but she was never without a soft seat. The movement made her aware of her aching, arthritic hip. _Definitely one for the_ _“no”_ column, especially since her problem had worsened. The pain now managed to travel down her leg in a trail of fire on most days, leaving her foot numb and walking a dicey enterprise. She shook her head resolutely. Best to move on before she was sucked into that inevitable, dark pit of self-pity.

Now, the nun let her bright blue eyes roam. Almost struck dumb, she gazed at the maple, oak, poplar, tulip, and ash trees that provided a glorious, if thinning canopy around her. _Yes, my eyes work! _In a most holy way, she decided, breathless with wonder. Gold, yellow, crimson, purple, brown, orange, red, and the palest green leaves were hanging, blowing, and skittering in a riot of color, in every direction her habit-clad head turned. My neck! _That works, too. _A smile broke across the planes of Alicia’s face, her full, pink cheeks rising like the sun at the dawn of day. Facial muscles! _Still working._ Lips and teeth? _Still working, too!_

She laughed out loud, the deep belly-laugh of a woman who was thankful and ever amused. The movement made her abdomen ache, furrowing her brow and causing a quick grimace to darken her face. Oh, the bowels. _Let’s not even go there! _Sr. Alicia often told herself that on the seventh day, God rested…and if the eight day ever came, He would make her poop. She laughed again, so loudly that the sleeping creature beside her was startled awake.

“Meow.” The sound was muffled and soft, befitting the small body from which it was emitted. “Meow,” the cat said again, and this time, Francis poked his head out of the wicker basket where he’d been sleeping, wrapped in an old shawl belonging to his companion. He looked up at Alicia with a curious gaze and a twitch of his whiskers. The nun had the grace to be contrite.

“Ah, I woke you! So sorry, Francis…” She smiled, reaching out to scratch him lightly on the top of his soft head. “I got carried away again, didn’t I?” The cat yawned and began licking a paw, his expression nothing if not superior. The jovial Franciscan chuckled, shaking her head. “Francis, your namesake preached humility, you know. He wouldn’t—” Her lecture was interrupted, though, by a child’s voice calling out, high-pitched and excited.

“Hi ‘Licia! We’re here! We’re here!” Rindy Aird was helpless to contain her excitement, and she came running up to Sr. Alicia with her blond curls bouncing, blue eyes shining, and a small, black dog following, barking madly at her heels. “Here we are, ‘Licia! Aren’t you happy to see Benny and me?” 

Francis, it seemed, did not want to be left out. Despite Benny’s incessant barking, the cat poked his head up. Rindy smiled with delight. “Mommy! Therese! It’s not just ‘Licia! It’s Francis, too, and he has his very own basket!”

Finally drawing near, Carol and Therese were both huffing and out of breath, having chased Rindy and Benny through the parking lot, around the outside of the convent, and into the back gardens. Sr. Alicia was amused to see Carol’s usually perfectly styled blond hair mussed in disarray, and her own dear Therese using the back of a hand to stifle the sniffles that had come quickly to her pert nose in the brisk autumn air.

Getting to her feet, the nun felt pain shoot through her hip, but there was nothing on earth that could keep the smile from her cherubic face, nor the light from her eyes. She clapped her hands with pleasure. “Therese, darling! Carol! Oh, my dears, it’s so very good to see you!” She held out her arms, kissing and then embracing first the petite brunette, and then the leggy blond. “I’m so glad you’re here, so glad the weather held.”

“Alicia,” Therese exclaimed softly, her emerald eyes misting with tears. “Oh…you are…it’s just…” She reached for her dear friend again, throwing slender arms around Alicia’s warm, rounded body. It felt heavenly to the young woman, and for a second she held on in grateful silence, oblivious to all but the love she felt, this love that seemed to harken from a thousand years ago. She squeezed tightly. “I just love you!”

Carol looked on fondly, having grown accustomed to Therese’s devotion to the nun who had somehow become a mother figure to her, too, and a grandmother to Rindy. A wave of tenderness swept over the tall woman, disarming and intense. _This love is changing me. _The thought came in a whisper, as it often did, surprising her still and always. The territory of her heart, she felt, was a Great Land Reclamation Project, one she was willing to participate in but still so cautious about doing so.

As if sensing her thoughts, Sr. Alicia looked up at Carol, taking in the flawless skin, the sculpted cheekbones, the luminous blue-gray eyes. The planes of her face looked softer, and the nun gave a slight nod. A much-loved verse came unbidden_: I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your_ _heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh. _The Spirit was at work_. Yes!_

“Mommy! Therese! ‘Licia! Look who I found!” Carol gazed at her skipping daughter, whose cheeks were red with exertion. She couldn’t help but laugh. Following dutifully behind the child, like teacher and student, was Sr. Mary Margaretta. Like Alicia, the beautiful young nun wore a long, brown, wool tunic, a habit, and a pair of serviceable black shoes that always made Carol cringe. A few wisps of red hair peeked out from Mary’s habit, her amber eyes glowed with warmth, and her lovely face held a shy and shimmering smile. Sr. Mary Margaretta was, undoubtedly, one of the most beautiful women Carol had ever seen, with a generosity of spirit to match.

“Hello,” the young Franciscan said, somewhat embarrassed but still smiling. “I don’t mean to barge in. I was raking leaves, and then Benny came barking along, and then Rindy, and well…here I am!” 

Therese came forward and embraced Mary with enthusiasm. “You’re never barging in! You must know that. Leave it to Rindy to find a friend.” Benny came scampering along then, stopping here and there to sniff, to investigate, and to pee, still barking with self-importance. Therese bent down to pick up the little dog. His body was warm, he licked her ear, and his black eyes peered at her in expectation. She ruffled the silky, coal black fur.

Rindy tugged at Carol’s hand. “Mommy, can Mary come with us, too? Won’t it be fun to bring ‘Licia and Mary both on our hayride? And they can eat lunch with us, too?” Sr. Mary Margaretta was backing away, shaking her head even as Carol, Alicia, and Therese were nodding. 

“Oh, no…I can’t…I couldn’t…” Mary stuttered. But she was no match for the trio of women, and the ever-gracious Carol gave voice to their thoughts. “Of course you can, dear. You’re always welcome in our company!”

Sr. Alicia spoke up next. “Mary, put aside your work. It’ll wait. It’s the Sabbath now.” When the younger nun nodded, Rindy jumped with excitement, blond curls bobbing in a wave of pure, unrestrained joy. 

“Oh, this is going to be great! I’ve never been on a hayride! Let’s go! Let’s go!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> O Holy Spirit, descend plentifully into my heart. Enlighten the dark corners  
of this neglected dwelling and scatter there Thy cheerful beams.  
St. Augustine
> 
> Grace grows better in the winter.  
Samuel Rutherford
> 
> Noah was a brave man to sail in a wooden ship with two termites.  
Anonymous

It had been quite the project getting Alicia up in the wagon. Her arthritic hip had limited her mobility, and she’d gritted her teeth as Carol and Therese had supported her on either side, strong hands gripping her elbows and helping her step up onto the hay-strewn surface. She thought perhaps all three of them had been sweating, despite the chilly, clear air that had them puffing out little clouds.

Now, she sat on a soft bale of hay as the wagon rumbled along behind the old tractor, exhaust smoke billowing skyward. They rode with a jovial group of companions, parents and their children and perhaps several grandparents who, like Alicia, were adventurous enough to climb aboard the wagon and join in the fun. Across from her, she watched Rindy chattering nonstop with Carol and Therese, her high-pitched, young voice loud in its competition with the tractor’s engine. Sr. Mary Margaretta sat next to Alicia, a look of quiet pleasure on her face. The two nuns were undoubtedly a curiosity to the strangers they traveled with. In their tunics and habits, they stood out. Alicia sensed a degree of shocked surprise, and she wondered what these strangers were thinking.

_Yes, darlings, we have hair!_ She smiled, but this quickly turned into a sigh. Alicia had felt lonely lately, burdened by the responsibilities and expectations of her vocation_. I’m only human_, she thought, looking once more around the group of happy hay riders, then outward at the surrounding countryside. Autumn was indeed, offering its full bounty, and colors whispered and popped like the flames of a campfire. The old Franciscan took a deep breath as if attempting to breathe the scarlet and gold and yellow-brown deep into the fiber of her being. Here in the mid-morning, the sun was just beginning to warm the day with its pale October rays, and the fields and trees released a pungent scent as if God was cooking up a tantalizing, earthy stew. 

Alicia wasn’t sure why at first, but she was aware of the thought of communion. A oneness, an identification, an opening. As she stared across the browning cornfields that fluttered in crackling chorus, across the crimson and beige wildflowers, now gone to seed, past the haystacks and silos to the glorious, swaying trees, it came to her unbidden.

_ I am in my autumn, too. Ahh. _She closed her eyes, knowing. Accepting. Yes, this was her autumn, and her screaming hip was a constant reminder. Gray hair, changing eyesight, creaking knees. The stubborn pounds that had settled around her middle, apparently never to leave.

Sometimes, Alicia knew, it felt like a black pit that threatened to suck her in. A magnetic maelstrom of hopelessness with a seductive, troublesome attraction. She took another deep breath, as if it held the tonic she craved.

_ Lord, Lord…how do I do this? _

_ Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy. Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison. _

_Have mercy on me, O_ _God, in your goodness, in the greatness of your compassion…_The words of Psalm 51 spilled from her heart of remembrance, the old favorite bringing its consolations:

_ Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me. Cast me not away from thy presence; and take not thy Holy Spirit from me. Restore unto me the joy of thy salvation; and uphold me with thy free spirit. _

Sr. Alicia felt it then, that quickening in her spirit that always made her feel like a bird had brushed its wings against her soul. Sometimes a whisper, sometimes a shout, always a mystery. Today, a murmur, and her nodding head. _Yes! Yes, Lord! Create._ _Renew. Joy. Holy Spirit. Free spirit._ She heard the words as if for the first time and as never before; felt the jolt of energy that seemed to thrum in her ears and surge through her bloodstream.

And—crazy as it might seem—she swore she heard the trees talking to her: _Look at us! Look, Alicia, look! _The old nun lifted her chin to see the sun set the leaves ablaze against the cerulean sky. Involuntarily, her hands came to her face, cupping round and flushed cheeks, her blue eyes watering as emotion swept through her.

Why had she not seen it for all these years? Her beloved trees seemed to wave countless hands at her; hands wearing gloves of breathtaking beauty. Old hands, like hers now, but beautiful, nonetheless. And so, so wise, so free. 

_Free spirits. Renew. Create. Holy Spirit_. 

And…what? There was a crease in her brow and her eyes squinted, looking for the answer in the language of the trees, the wildflowers, the brown and spent corn. She was lost in prayer, lost in reflection. The hay wagon jolted its way along a bumpy, muddy path. Rindy still chattered to Carol, whose blond head was bent, a silk curtain splaying upon her child’s pink cheek as the woman struggled to hear the excited babble. Therese gazed at the passing trees, her emerald eyes reflecting tints of red and gold, and her thick, dark hair blew about her pale face with riotous glee. Sr. Mary Margaretta breathed in the freedom of being outdoors, outside the convent’s heavy, purpose-driven walls where so many of the sick had suffered, just out… and having fun, a true rarity for the young nun.

Alicia journeyed along with her dear friends, with the light-hearted strangers all around her, some still casting surreptitious, suspicious, confused looks. But she was oblivious, attending a holy communion with this earth gifted them by the Creator. And finally, the moment’s truth was revealed to her, and she thought perhaps St. Francis himself was dancing in the heavens when finally, she understood: _Be like us! Let yourself be changed. Ask to be transformed._ _Renewed. Created, even in your aging body, like the buds that follow the falling of our leaves. Trust that you are still being born. Let your leaves fall so that your branches might be lightened and your spirit freed. Trust in this process, in its wisdom and the wisdom you now have to offer. Let God free your spirit. Let Love have its way with you, Alicia. Let Love love you!_

_Yes_, the old Franciscan prayed. _Yes, and yes, and thank you. Yes…with your Divine Grace. _She took a deep breath, feeling the crisp air fill her lungs and cool her flushed face. Despite the raucous tractor engine and the uneven road that tossed her about on the hay bale, a sense peace came over Alicia, a rolling wave that bathed her in its quietude. She breathed it in for a moment, crossing herself, unaware she was doing so, and felt Sr. Mary Margaretta’s hand on her arm.

“Alicia?” The beautiful, young Franciscan spoke, and Alicia could see the question in her eyes, a passing shadow making them look heavy. “Yes, dear?” the older sister replied, wondering at the source of that pensive gaze.

“Were you praying, just now? Even here, even now?” For a moment, Mary looked stricken, and Alicia thought she might have seen a pang of guilt skitter its way across her lovely face. She reached out and squeezed the other woman’s hand consolingly.

“Mm-hm, I was,” she answered with a wide smile. “But I hadn’t planned on it, Mary. I think the Holy Spirit gave me a nudge in that direction.” Alicia looked around, very aware of the jovial mood of their present company, the distracting chatter. “It doesn’t hardly seem the place for it, does it now?” 

Mary was silent, distracted, and Alicia doubted she had heard her words. She watched the woman turn her head, watched the brown habit flutter in the breeze, watch her lift her eyes to the treetops. After a moment or two, Mary turned back, a decisive expression on her face. “Sister? I’d like to…can I come meet with you soon? Can we talk about a few things?” Alicia watched the green eyes grow troubled. 

“And please, can you pray for me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry I didn't get this written sooner. As soon as it was gifted to me, so much happened...
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Sending peace and much gratitude.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are always getting ready to live, but never living.  
Ralph Waldo Emerson
> 
> To be whole, we must deny nothing.  
Stephen Levine
> 
> I have lived with several Zen masters--all of them cats.  
Eckhart Tolle

“What did you think about Mary? Did she seem a bit off, or is it just me?” Carol sat in pale pink pajamas at her vanity, brushing out her blond curls and watching Therese’s movements in the mirror as she undressed behind her. The younger woman was so slender, almost ethereal to Carol’s eyes, with her smooth, pale skin, dark hair, and graceful movements as she stepped into her green nightie.

Therese paused, her head at a tilt and brow furrowed in concentration. After a few moments, she nodded as she pulled an arm through a sleeve. “Mm-hm, yes. I did pick up on something. Distraction…or worry?” She shrugged. “I’m not really sure. And she was so absorbed in coloring with Rindy, it made it hard to engage her in conversation.”

Carol nodded, turning around. There was a fond smile on her face, and the tenderness that thoughts of Rindy inevitably brought. She stood, making her way to her side of their bed and sliding in. “She was really wound up today, wasn’t she? God, her vocabulary is really expanding, but the child just doesn’t stop talking! It wears me out sometimes, I’m sorry to say,” she continued ruefully, “considering the limits on the time we can spend together. But in all honesty, I was so grateful that you, Alicia, and Mary were along for the adventure to keep the pressure of conversing with that little dynamo off me,” she finished with a chuckle as she arranged her pillow comfortably.

Therese had finished changing and got into bed, too, scooting over at once. She lay facing Carol, reaching out to run a hand from the other woman’s shoulder to her wrist and back again. This was their nightly ritual when they retired at the same time, one that brought them both solace and connection amidst the hustle bustle of their lives. Benny lay at the foot of the bed in his very own place, sound asleep, and the small, black bundle of silky fur never missed a night.

“Carol, Rindy is a delight! You know she brings joy to all of us, despite the constant chattering.” Therese’s smile was warm, if tired. “I _know_ she is nothing but a joy to Alicia, and it sure seems like Mary Margaretta is fully engaged with her.” She paused, thoughts running a race behind her sleepy, emerald eyes that looked almost black in the faint light from the bedside lamp. “At least, most of the time…” Carol was stroking Therese’s thick, brunette hair away from her face, making the younger woman feel as if her thoughts were fleeting, like fireflies in the night. “You’re right though,” Therese continued, “Mary wasn’t herself. She’s usually so warm and…_bright. _She’s got a light about her. Today, not so much…” Her voice trailed away, and she knew she was falling under the spell of her lover’s tender touch.

The leggy blond opposite Therese moved closer, seeking her warmth, her nearness. “Yes, a light, and today it seemed dim, or wavering…” She buried her face in the silky dark hair, sought Therese’s shoulder, her warm neck. “M-m, you smell like fresh air, campfire, and hay.” She allowed herself to just enjoy this embrace, these gentle touches. They were a nightly ritual that sent fresh water deep into the roots of their friendship, their love, nourishing them both at the end of demanding days.

Therese felt goosebumps rise on her forearms, as they always did when Carol’s lips found the warm crease where her neck and shoulder joined. She inhaled deeply, catching a faint scent of the blond’s perfume and the same woodsmoke her own hair emanated. “So do you,” she murmured, her hands still stroking with tenderness, loving the feel of Carol’s warm skin underneath the silk of her nightwear. “Maybe we should have showered together…”

Carol shook her head, drawing back and then beginning to rain tender kisses upon Therese’s warm, smooth forehead. “No, it was all I could do to get Rindy into bed.” She yawned now, unable to fight the lassitude that crept inexorably up and down her limbs. “Oh, I’m tired, darling. Sleep cometh soon!” She leaned over to kiss her girlfriend with tenderness, once and then twice on the lips, then on her cheek. The younger woman returned the kisses, reaching up to place a final peck on Carol’s forehead.

“Yes, sleep now. And Mary?” Therese asked sleepily. “Are we supposed to reach out to her? And Alicia? How to get her some relief from pain?” Carol’s hands had stilled, her deep voice had grown huskier.

“Tomorrow, sweetheart. Let’s talk more tomorrow…” she replied as she drifted off to sleep.

________________________________________

Sr. Alicia sat in her dressing gown and robe at the small table in her room at Pace di Christo. There was a soft blue afghan on her lap, trailing down her legs to warm her feet. A cup of hot tea sat on the table, which was also adorned by a small, glowing votive candle and her well-worn Bible. Her chair was plain and wooden, not exactly comfortable after the long day and physical activity she’d had. She wiggled her ample bottom around, attempting to find a way to sit which was less aggravating to her hip, but at this hour of the night, she gave up almost as quickly as she started.

The old Franciscan let a sigh escape her pursed lips. She’d completed compline prayers for the night, and now just sat, silent and open to the movement of the Spirit. That is, if she wasn’t too distracted by the thoughts that always pushed at her. Tonight, thinking was outweighing peaceful silence, perhaps because of the busy day she’d had, and the company kept. A smile crept across her face, as if an old, favorite song had begun to play.

Carol, Therese, and Rindy. _Ah, thank you, Lord, for the gifts they were! _Always so generous with their time, making the long drive north just to visit a limping, old nun. Always taking her in as if she was part of their family; including her in birthday and holiday invites; calling to check in on a regular basis; worrying over her health. She loved watching the couple’s love for each other blossom and deepen, loved sensing and seeing the genuine friendship that was growing on the far side of falling in love.

_ Ah, dearest Therese. Finally, joy has come to you! Thank you, Lord, for blessings._

Now, thoughts of Sr. Mary Margaretta flooded Alicia’s mind, and she rocked again in her chair as if the young sister’s discomfort had pushed her about. She’d gotten to know Mary slightly on their long drives into New York when Alicia needed to see the hip specialist. She was always generous of spirit, gracious, helpful, and kind. But there was a wariness, too, as if she was afraid of Alicia, and a youthful uncertainty that permeated many of Mary’s interactions.

And what was Mary…24, 25? Therese’s contemporary, so young! Alicia remembered that time of her life, remembered her absolute certainty that God had called her to life in the Franciscan sisterhood. She also remembered how bewildered she often was…how lost…how overwhelmed and lonely and certain she’d made the wrong decision.

Perhaps this was part of Mary Margaretta’s journey now? Alicia couldn’t know. But the child had asked to talk with her. Alicia closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She always prayed when someone asked for a time to speak with her. She prayed for grace and humility and discernment, for a quiet mind and an open, unfettered heart.

The hushed nun took a sip of her now tepid tea, perhaps for sustenance. Then the prayer sprang forth: _Speak, Lord. Your servant is listening._

________________________________________

Sr. Mary Margaretta had used the communal rest room and walked in silence down the long, dark corridor to her room. The empty hallway felt cold, and in her thin robe, dressing gown, and slippers, she was chilled and longed for her bed. She’d left her door cracked, and pale light from the bedside lamp illuminated her final, quick steps.

Entering her stark, simple room, the beautiful, young woman felt her heart lift. She closed her door quietly, turning to her bed with a smile. The ball of soft, gray fur moved the slightest bit.

“Francis!” Mary whispered, her voice sounding like a merry-go-round. Two rushed steps, and then she was sitting atop the plain, white bedspread, pulling her legs beneath her as she reached out a hand to pet the dozing cat. “Hi, buddy! I’m so glad you came to see me!” Her hand stroked his silky coat, one thumb caressing the bridge of his nose, up to his forehead. A patch of snowy white fur had grown there as Francis had matured, and Mary Margaretta had privately decided it was a visible sign of the cat’s anointing.

The young woman paused for a fleeting moment, looking with tenderness at the cat. Francis was nothing if not an angel. Her angel! She believed this with all her heart, and with a complete absence of flippancy. She’d grown up a Catholic school girl and now was a Catholic nun, so she certainly knew all about Michael and Gabriel and Raphael. But Mary had added Francis to the list. She’d watched him follow her around the infirmary where she tended to the sick and sometimes the dying. Mary was convinced Francis was sent by the Spirit; he knew, always, which sisters needed nursing and comfort; who was suffering and who was lonely; who needed his little body curled up to their side and who needed the touch of Mary’s hand. 

Francis also seemed to know what _she_ needed, and he’d taken to showing up on her bed each night, waiting for her to return from the rest room. She smiled, loving the feel of his warm body beneath her fingers. “Francis, thank you! I’m glad you’re here. You wouldn’t believe what I did today.” A sigh escaped her lips, and suddenly the nun felt the full impact of her weighty thoughts. She also felt very cold and moved to turn off the bedside lamp, crawling under the blankets. Francis knew what to do next, and as Mary turned to lay on her side, he curled up as close to her as possible, but not so close that he couldn’t look into her eyes, just visible now in the faint glow coming from a nightlight.

Mary reached to stroke the soft fur under the cat’s chin. He almost murmured his meow, then began to purr. She chuckled softly. “Yes, you love this, don’t you? So do I, Francis. You wouldn’t believe how nice it is to touch you, to have you here in bed with me.” She sighed once more, her breath lingering in the air as waves of sadness. Mary felt the tightness in her throat, a not unfamiliar sensation.

“It’s just that this seems so…_abnormal. _It’s all so constricted here, Francis,” she continued, and now the cat looked at her intently, his blue gray eyes almost indigo in the dim light. “We all have to talk in soft voices, and you never hear laughter, and I would get in so much trouble with Mother Superior if I poked fun at another sister.” She rolled her eyes. “But _please_…there is so much to make fun of!”

The young nun halted, feeling stricken by a pang of conscience for a moment, then ran a gentle hand down the length of Francis’s back. “See, Francis, now I feel guilty! But I swear, I don’t mean any of this in a vindictive way. I just…I want to burst sometimes,” she whispered passionately. “I just want to be _young _and being in this convent is making me very old somehow.

“Alicia seems like the only sister here who can laugh and have fun, the only young one like me, and _she’s so old! _And oh, Francis, now I’ve gone and asked if I can speak with her. Oh, why did I do that?” Mary’s pale cheeks were flaming now, and her agitation had Francis standing, then coming toward the lovely young woman to brush his head against her hot forehead. But Mary was almost unaware of the cat’s presence as her eyes had fallen upon the crucifix hanging starkly in the middle of the opposing wall, the only adornment in her entire bedroom. She stared at unseeing, then shook her head.

“I can’t be Mary Elizabeth, Francis. I can’t be Mary Claire, either. I can’t be Paul or Mark or Timothy, so help me!” She breathed a broken sigh, then thrust her head back on her pillow, turning away from the attentive cat. Francis was undeterred, and padded with soft paws across the coarse bedspread, over Mary’s thin shoulder and up her pillow until he was standing like a sentry in gray uniform next to her head, with its shock of short, thick, orange-red hair. He made a sound in his throat, a purr and a squeak, and this was what garnered him the nun’s attention once again.

Mary smiled faintly, as if it took tremendous energy. She reached out a hand, running it directly over Francis’s eyes and forehead, until at the back of his neck it stopped and began to knead, fingers thrust into thick fur. “Francis,” she said, taking a deep breath. Young nun and young cat stared at each other intently, as if a bond was deepening. “You are my confessor, you know? You know all my secrets, you listen, you don’t judge me, and I don’t have to follow any rules for you!

“Why, oh why, am I going to bring Alicia into this? Will anything good come of it?” she asked the cat, who never removed his eyes from his young companion’s face. Francis could not answer the question, but his warm and steady presence reassured her that she would not be alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm feeling grateful at this moment...grateful for those of you who are reading this, grateful that the story is being given to me,  
and so grateful this chapter came sooner than later.
> 
> Sending you many blessings and much peace.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Lord God is my strength, and he will give me hinds' feet, and make me to walk upon mine high places.  
Habakkuk 3:19
> 
> Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.  
Luke 6:38

They sat together at the table, both enjoying these few moments together before heading off to work. Carol buttered her toast, acutely aware of Therese’s eyes on her. It felt like the light of two brilliant, emerald stars pouring through the heavens just to illuminate her heart. She picked up her head, making eye contact with her beautiful girlfriend. Therese’s facial expression spoke volumes, and Carol inexplicably had a vision of Santa’s bag, stuffed full of toys on Christmas eve. The blond tilted her head, her brows arching like twin question marks.

“What?” she asked. Nothing more; nothing else was needed.

The brunette smiled, but her eyes were laden with concern. “You know what, Carol. Harge just came to get Rindy.” She paused, and the small silence spoke volumes. “There’s never been a time I haven’t worried about you.” Again, a heavy pause. “So…how are you?”

Carol felt fine, but tears stung her eyes, nonetheless. She reached out across the scarred wood to squeeze Therese’s fingers. “Oh, I’m ok.” She cleared her throat. “I’m fine, sweetheart. My heart aches, as usual…” She shrugged her shoulders, a movement that Therese always thought elegant. “I wish there was more time…I fight for it…it pisses me off…and then I suck the life out of every moment we have!” Her smile was fierce. “And I’m ok!”

The other woman was deeply moved. She’d watched Carol, walked beside her through the hell of the initial pain of separation from her daughter, through the rage and despondency, the ongoing injustice, the coming to terms as best they could. Through it all, Carol was a lioness fighting for the one she loved. 

Therese could not feel prouder. And at times, completely spent. She heaved a huge sigh, then giggled. “Is it too early in the day for a glass of wine?” Carol’s head shot back, her blond hair spilling in a silken wave around her shoulders as she bellowed with laughter. “Ah, don’t I wish, sweetheart! A glass of wine, a warm bath, a day in bed together…just think of all the possibilities!” she commented, a wolfish gleam in her eyes.

The younger woman felt her cheeks flame as images shot like wildfire through her imagination. She cleared her throat, unable to take her eyes from her lover. “Soon?” she asked in a breathy whisper. Her answer was the flash of arousal that caused Carol’s blue-gray eyes to darken. The leggy blond stood, took one graceful step, and swooped down to capture Therese’s lips in a kiss that tantalized, lingered, promised.

“Soon.”

____________________________________________

Sr. Alicia sat in her office at Pace de Christo, staring out the window at the gardens. They were brown now, and the brittle stems and spent flowers seemed to be hanging on for dear life as the cold wind swooped down on them from the north. Her chair was cushioned, and she thanked the heavens for the generous soul who had donated it to the convent. She lay her head back, feeling for a moment like a sprinter sitting back on her heels before bolting off in a fifty-yard dash. Off to run another day’s race. Or, in her case, to limp her way through…

The aging sister took a deep breath, summoning a verse from a heart that had read scripture for well over fifty years now: _The Lord God is my strength, and he will give me hinds’ feet, and make me to walk_ _upon mine high places. _Another deep breath, and now Alicia let the words trickle down, like water from a bubbling creek come to nourish the trees that held it sacred; down through cool, green grass; down into dark recesses of soil; down to countless root fibers craving its promise of replenishment; down and down and down, to a place that wasn’t a place at all but a flowing, sacred state where the Light alive in deep roots had its communion with the Light that was the stars.

The old Franciscan breathed in this Light. Grateful beyond words. She knew beyond a doubt that today, as in every day, Spirit would be with her. Spirit would show up! The substance of all things—how could Spirit not be with her?

The question that needed to be asked, Alicia knew, was _will I show up? Will I come out to meet you today, Lord? Will I be present to this day, to the hours and minutes and seconds, no matter what they hold?_ Isn’t this the question that needed to be asked, each and every day? _Am I going to show up? Will_ _I live into each moment, to this Life you’ve called me to? Or will I hide in the shadows?_

Yes! _With Your grace. With Your grace, with Your grace, With Your grace._

She looked down at her hands, weathered, dry, marked by the years. Opened them, as if releasing all her gifts into the day, all she had to offer. And receiving back all that grace would give her. Alicia smiled, her blue eyes deep and rich, her cheeks full and pink and welcoming. She nodded, ready for whatever this day would bring. And another verse popped into her head, bringing an even bigger smile:

_ “Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together, and running over will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured back to you.”_

She was so deep in prayer it took a second for her to hear the knocking. Alicia blinked, finally, turning her head toward the office door. She took a deep breath. “Come in!” she said firmly.

Sr. Mary Margaretta came into the room almost timidly, her steps quiet. The beautiful young nun had a stricken look about her, her flawless face flushed and green eyes bright with untold concerns. Alicia’s heart softened and compassion flowed into her being.

“Come in, Sr. Mary. It’s okay. Tell me what’s on your mind, dear, and we’ll figure it out together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had no idea I would write this chapter, but our dear ladies offered it up.
> 
> So, I offer it to you all, too, with peace and blessings.
> 
> Thank you so very much for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that,  
Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.  
Martin Luther King, Jr.
> 
> Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off,  
and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very shabby.  
But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't  
be ugly, except to people who don't understand.  
Margery Williams, The Velveteen Rabbit

Alicia stood, a smile on her face. She indicated an empty seat across from her. “Come, Sr. Mary. Sit with me here. We’ll have a nice visit.” Th older nun sat down again, arranging her legs as comfortably as she could and trying to keep the strain of pain from her face. Then she folded her hands on her lap.

“I’m not sure what brings you by, Mary, but let’s pray over our time, ok?” Seeing a nod of agreement, Alicia bowed her head. “Lord, I ask for your sacred presence with us here. I ask that Mary be blessed with grace to guide her thoughts and enable her to unburden herself. And I ask that you grant me the wisdom to be a humble and worthy companion. We pray in your name, Lord. Amen.”

Sr. Alicia smiled again. “So,” she said softly, “tell me what brings you by.”

The younger woman just stared now, aware that it felt dry and sandy and gritty in her mouth, and her heart was thumping painfully beneath her tunic. She took a deep, shaky breath, forcing herself to make eye contact with Alicia.

“I just need to...” Mary’s voice faltered as uncertainty overcame her. “Sr. Alicia...the things I say here...can they be between us?” She sighed, and her entire upper body surrendered its breath. “I think I know for sure I can trust you, but...” She made direct eye contact with Alicia, whose eyes peered unerringly at the struggling young nun. “Can I trust you?”

A gentle nod. “Yes. You can confide in me.” A moment of silence, a door, an invitation to explore the vast and mysterious landscape that beckoned. “You can trust me, Mary.” Alicia smiled, her blue eyes shining a tender light. “Whatever is on your mind seems to be greatly troubling. I’m very willing to hold it with you, dear.”

The younger nun let her head fall back for a moment, taking and releasing a deep and cleansing breath. When she spoke, it was to the ceiling, until her words trickled down like raindrops on the window to her soul.

“I’m struggling so much with life here, Sr. Alicia.” Mary made direct eye contact, her lovely face a portrait of strife. “I was so happy at first. I thought I could do this...”. She gestured to her tunic. “I love working in the infirmary! I love caring for our sisters and nursing them along. I love bathing them and making them feel pretty.” She paused, closing her eyes for a moment. “But the rest of this...”

Alicia could feel her own heart clench, sensing the other woman’s turmoil. Mary opened green eyes that roiled and spilled like wind driven waves. She took a breath, and with it appeared to make a decision. Her gaze was unflinching.

“Sr. Alicia, I can’t be Mary Elizabeth. I can’t be Mary Claire, either! And I am not ever going to be like Matthew, Mark, or Timothy!” Tears brimmed in her eyes, and with them came a well of deep sadness. She shook her head, feeling stuck in this place, paralyzed by an awareness she’d held for so very long.

Across from her, Alicia watched intently. Her mind was spilling out questions—_who are_ _these people_\--for one. But her heart was speaking louder. _Wait, wait, wait with her._ And from her soul came a beloved Gospel image. The Samaritan woman, standing by a well, uncertain and stricken. And Jesus beside her, patient, discerning, peaceful, with his offer of living water.

The old Franciscan breathed out a prayer for wisdom, for vision. _Show me, Lord. Show me_ _how she needs to drink!_

“Mary, dear, you weren’t born to be anyone else...any of these others. Just you.”

A flash of sharp irritation rose swiftly, rattling the cages of Sr. Mary’s cell. “So you say, Sr. Alicia! But..._really?”_ Anger now, steaming from jagged fissures in the young woman’s heart. “Not if you’re born a Corrigan! In my family you had one choice, and one choice only.” Mary cringed, as if shielding herself from years of heavy demands. “It was always ‘all my children will grow up to be a religious. All our children have a vocation! Look how wonderful those Corrigan children are!’” She stopped, her chest heaving, her cheeks flushed crimson with emotion. “So no, I hate to tell you, but I don’t think I was born to be me!”

Alicia scrutinized, her look gentle and understanding, but quizzical. “And Mary Elizabeth and Mary Claire? Mark and…Timothy and...”

“That would be Matthew, my oldest brother,” Sr. Mary interjected. “The six Corrigan children, all of whom grew up to fulfill a life of religious vocation! All of whom are deeply committed and very content. All of whom are my parents’ pride and joy, off serving the Lord and making my parents the toast of our parish!” 

Mary was storming now, all gusts and squalls, and Alicia was delighted. This, she knew, was necessary. The normally demure, peaceful sister was erupting. With her red hair and flushed face, Alicia thought she was the embodied flame of her own truth, cutting a swath of light through the clouds.

“No one bothered to ask us, to ask me, Sr. Alicia! I should have been asked!” Mary cried, sitting straighter in her chair. “My parents just...took my life! Gave it to the church, and I was told I would go and...” She was fidgeting, antsy, as if her skeleton was too tight. “And I can’t stand my sisters! I know I’m supposed to love them whole-heartedly, but I can’t stand them, Sr. Alicia! Especially Claire!”

“What about Claire, Mary? Tell me more,” Alicia coaxed.

The young nun almost scowled. “There was something…_different_ about her. She was always so…_holy_. She still is! Loved praying and going to mass, always the good follower of Jesus. She wanted to be a saint since we were little, always read about their lives. Elizabeth was holy, too, but maybe not quite so much.”

Her voice faded, and she seemed to be lost in a haze of remembrance. Alicia watched her, knowing she herself was pensive. She’d seen this before. Large Catholic families, and parents who wanted “a religious.” For status, for respect. For relief, because sending children to the convent or seminary meant less mouths to feed, fewer difficult teens to raise.

“...and I was always the problem, Sr. Alicia.” Mary’s voice was so much softer, and Alicia strained to hear her. “The black sheep, I guess. I didn’t fall so easily in line with all the future priests and nuns.” The young woman shrugged, and Alicia thought she looked so beautiful in her transparency, lighter as she came out from behind her veil.

_ What light and joy appear when a soul finally knows its truth! Really, is there anything more beautiful than a soul coming home to itself? _

“And you, Mary? What can you tell me about you?” Alicia encouraged, feeling she was walking on sacred ground.

Mary laughed lightly. “Oh, Sr. Alicia, I was the one who liked fun! I liked parties. I liked boys and having lots of friends. I cut class in high school. I smoked cigarettes. I snuck around and wore lipstick when the nuns weren’t looking. I had a hard time academically. 

“One time, Mark snuck me into a theater with him and his friends! It was so much fun,” Mary replied, her eyes shining with happy remembrance. “We saw _High Noon_, and I wanted to be Grace Kelley, up there on the screen with Gary Cooper! It looked so fun and adventurous and romantic...” Mary sighed, then lifted her eyes. 

“I miss that, Sr. Alicia. I miss movies and friends and having fun.” The young woman looked forlorn, perhaps despairing. “I feel so _crushed_ here. It’s like I can’t breathe!” Mary shook her head, still agitated. “And is it a crime for sisters to smile and laugh? Why can’t we have fun? Is God really so serious?”

Alicia wanted to laugh. She’d had many of these same questions, years ago, and still did.

“I always have a lovely time with Carol and Therese. And with Rindy, when she’s with them.” Mary stumbled over her words a bit, uncertain about sharing so many thoughts. “I envy them, though, and I know I shouldn’t,” she added, unable to make eye contact. She gestured with her hands, trying to make a point, and in their paleness, their graceful motions, Alicia thought they could be doves swooping through a clearing sky. “To spend your life with someone you love…to be a mother…” Her voice faded, as if attached to the tail of a kite that was blowing far away.

Mary cleared her throat. “Do I have to be married to Jesus? Do I have to be his bride?” she asked, and her expression was perhaps one of guilt and despair. “Can’t I still love Jesus while being married to someone I love? Is that really so bad?” 

Alicia felt a supreme sadness in her own heart. Not that Mary had such doubts, but that she would be forced into them in the first place. The older nun considered her words, praying for wisdom, for vision and discernment.

“Mary, dear, of course you can love Jesus and love a spouse! To love another, deeply and truly, is a vocation in and of itself. It’s no less a holy call than the call to religious life!” She cleared her throat, closing her eyes, praying for guidance. She opened them to see Mary watching her intently, her green eyes pleading for understanding, her hands twisting one upon the other in her lap. Alicia hoped the young nun’s shoulders had dropped a bit, that the lines of her lovely face weren’t quite so tightly stretched. _Please, Lord, help me help her._

_ “_Look at me, Mary. I want you to hear me now, dear!” When they’d made eye contact, Alicia continued. “God has given you _only one life! _I don’t even pretend to know God’s thoughts, but everything in me tells me the highest praise, the greatest gift you can give is to live authentically and honestly the life you’ve been called to. Not to live as your mother or father want, or as your family says you should. You have to mine the depths of your own personhood, to live your gifts to the fullest extent you can, and with the most gratitude.” She caught her breath, hoping some of her sentiments were being heard by the beautiful young woman across from her, feeling like she was babbling.

“Mary, Jesus wouldn’t have done any good if he tried to be another John the Baptist. Jesus needed to be Jesus! Don’t you think?”

The other woman nodded, though Mary couldn’t deny the weight that seemed to be sitting squarely on her chest like a pallet full of bricks. _So, what? It doesn’t matter what I want! My_ _parents won’t let me leave!_

Alicia watched the emotions come and go across Mary’s face, feeling it was a play she’d seen many times before. Sr. Mary wasn’t the first sister to question her vocation, and she certainly wouldn’t be the last. Alicia just hoped the young woman had the inner strength to face her truth, and that her family wouldn’t be an impediment to her choices, whatever they may be.

Mary moved in her chair, uncomfortable now as butterflies seemed to batter the walls of her belly. She cleared her throat. “Sr. Alicia, I hear what you’re saying. I really do. But it doesn’t matter. My parents would never let me leave Pace di Christo. They’d never let me leave the Franciscans. I would taint the family name…they probably wouldn’t even let me come home,” she replied, her voice heavy with despair and hopelessness. “They wouldn’t let me choose my own path, don’t you see?”

Alicia cringed, knowing full well that Mary was probably correct. She’d seen this sad eventuality many times before, and she didn’t pretend to know a way around it. She also knew that Mother Superior was likely to support Mary’s parents and not the young sister. It made her feel ill to consider it, but the truth was, it was the parents who now made monetary donations to the convent. She sighed, trying to keep a hopeful look on her face.

“Mary, let me pray about this for a few days, okay? Let me seek the Spirit. I have a thought about what steps you might take next, but I need to pray about it, dear.”

_____________________________________

Therese didn’t know if there could be a more soothing sensation, ever. She lay on the sofa with her head in Carol’s lap. The older woman’s long, slender fingers were running through strands of thick, silky, brunette hair, occasionally interchanging these heavenly ministrations with massaging Therese’s scalp in light, rhythmic circles. Carol’s fingers, her hands, her long and lanky body all communicated warmth and comfort and peace to Therese, who thought she might never want to pick her head up again.

As if reading her thoughts, the blond smiled and said, “You look like you’ve been put into a trance state, darling.” Her voice was soft, deep, and relaxed, adding to the mesmerizing atmosphere. “I hope this has helped ease the strain of your day?”

Not opening her eyes, Therese smiled and murmured, “Mm-hm.” She reached up a hand, finding Carol’s fingers and giving them a squeeze of gratitude, then turning over her hand to place a tender kiss on the palm. “This is exactly what I needed. I’ve completely forgotten the piles on my desk at work. Maybe I won’t ever go back there…maybe I’ll win a sweepstakes and support us with my vast wealth!”

Carol chuckled, a low, pleasant rumble of a sound. “Don’t we both wish, sweetheart! Then I could leave the store to Abby, and you and I would spend our time travelling, playing with Rindy, visiting Bubbles, and redecorating the Italian villa we’ll buy!” 

There was joy in Carol’s voice, and this pleased Therese inordinately. It occurred to her that Carol’s happiness was as important to her as her own. Opening her eyes, Therese gazed up. Carol’s hair fell around her face in a silken curtain, darkening her eyes and accentuating the fine bones and shadows. She was simply beautiful, and Therese felt thankful for gifts too many to count and too wondrous to try to understand.

The older woman smiled, stroking the smooth, warm skin of Therese’s forehead with the backs of her fingers. “I feel like I’m watching a play, darling. Your thoughts are all over your face.”

She received a nod of agreement, and a gentle smile. “Just appreciating you…feeling grateful,” Therese almost whispered. The blond nodded, too. “A little bit of time in our cocoon makes the world go away, doesn’t it?”

The younger woman paused, her forehead creasing with concern as a thought occurred to her. “Yes. Carol? Do you think Mary Margaretta will be ok? I keep thinking about her. She just wasn’t herself yesterday…so distracted and worried, maybe…”

“I know, sweetheart. I thought of her, too, and Alicia…”

“If anyone can be a good support, it’s Alicia.”

“Yes, but I worry about her, too. Who supports Alicia?”

“Well, we do! And she has her Lord…”

________________________________________

Sr. Alicia sat in her small room, at her small table. It was late now, and quiet, and she breathed in the light of the candle…the exquisite stillness…

Sr. Mary Margaretta was foremost in her prayers. The young sister was filled with longing and discontent, and Alicia was quite concerned. Years ago, the older nun would have sprung into action, rushing ahead to talk to Mother Superior, to consider asking for a meeting with Mary’s parents, to _do something _to fix Mary’s inner torment.

But somewhere along the way, Alicia had been granted a profound grace, the one that saw her seeking the Spirit first. Some might think her a fool, she thought, but still she let go now…opening…inviting…falling into Light, into a greater Wisdom, a deeper Love.

“I know, it’s not about me, Lord. So come, Holy Spirit, fill the hearts of your faithful. Kindle in us the fire of your Love…” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving, dear readers.  
I am thankful for you!  
I wish you peace....

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a long while since I've written anything, and I'm surprised this piece has appeared! But when a muse speaks, one is wise to listen.  
I hope you've all been well. Sending you peace, as always.


End file.
